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bastard

our love
was a bastard child
you were strong
and held your earlier one to your bosom
with strength of mountains

the merry little one
you wish could have
remained in womb
never to come out.

you refuse to kill it
and wish to keep it away
the bastard has a soul too
it would rather die than be orphaned

let it crawl back
into you and dissolve
in your heart
it will be reborn
on the new day
of someone else.

Comments

A S said…
ooh! so intensely creative, loved it.its an intellectual drug , i was high on it!
Ajinkya said…
:) i don't know. its just an outburst. thank you for appreciation though.
cinnamon said…
want to understand it...trying hard...i know i'll get it though.
cinnamon said…
want to understand it...trying hard...i know i'll get it though.
cinnamon said…
want to understand it...trying hard...i know i'll get it though.
A S said…
ooh! so intensely creative, loved it.its an intellectual drug , i was high on it!
cinnamon said…
want to understand it...trying hard...i know i'll get it though.

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Withdrawal symptoms

Ctrl-tab
Ctrl-tab...
Scroll Scroll Scoll..
Alt-tab
Alt-tab...
Catch yourself slipping away.

Deep  breath. 

Close the browser. silence the mobile and turn it away.

Open an offline-real-paper diary. Stop your thighs from lolling impatiently. Stay still. 

Pick up a pen awkwardly. ahh, the fingers are stiff. It will take a  while for them to get used to holding a pen. Quick finger exercise - open the palm, stretch finger outwards, close into a fist, dig the fingers in. Repeat.
Ok now.. about to pick up the pen again, but eyes dart towards the screen. Tempted to check email.

Shut up. The last consequential email came two months ago. Nothing of consequence is online.

Pick up the pen. Don't fetishize the object now. Get on with it. Put it on paper, write a word and start it already. If I get to a sentence, perhaps I will get into a flow and won't have to look up from the paper at all. 

One sentence later.

Ahh. That was good. I am feeling good about myself. The sentence makes sense. …

Value

Things turn into cash
once they are stripped of their lives -
their breath,
their freedom,
their dignity
or their joy.

A fish on the table
and a cubicle dweller..
both are united in their solvency,
their ability to be stripped of their lives and turned into money.

This solvency is our own making
Hold up your hands against the sun and your favourite gods
Do they dissolve? 
Hold up your heart and see if it beats for them
Hold your joys in your hands and fling them towards the system,
does it stick?

For a better world
first we need to walk away from this world.